


Baby Steps

by mmmelmoth



Series: Guilt-ridden past-Battle-of-Hogwarts stories [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Baby Teddy Lupin, Cute Parenting, Domestic, Domestic Fluff, Drarry, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Forgiveness, LGBTQ Themes, M/M, Post-Battle of Hogwarts, Post-Canon, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Redemption, also lots of guilt and sadness, cause that's all this is, contradictory emotions, domestic trash, how many times am i gonna say domestic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-08
Updated: 2018-08-25
Packaged: 2019-06-07 10:04:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 13
Words: 18,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15216785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mmmelmoth/pseuds/mmmelmoth
Summary: After everything that happened, it's surprising to find out who's there for Harry and who isn't, especially since he's taking care of his orphaned godson and trying to abandon magic. A lot of changes are taking place, each one tiny step at a time.Thanks to my wonderful sister for beta-reading!





	1. First Step.

Doorbells. It’s been three days since Harry last heard those, a week since he’s answered them. It had been Hermione with an armful of diapers and a homemade cake in the depths of her handbag. He’d even invited her in over a cup of tea, but _You know I would love to stay longer. There are just so many placed that need working on right now, everyone’s in pieces. Are you sure you can handle this by yourself? Because I’ll be there if you reach out. You look like you haven’t been sleeping either. None of us have_. A whirlwind of miserable looks and knitted baby presents. He doesn’t remember for how long they talked at his door, only that _Ron wanted to come, too. But it’s a lot for all of them right now. I’m sure he’ll be around_.

And as he gets up, the small bundle that had fallen asleep on his chest now in his arms, he dares to hope for just a second that maybe his best friend has found his way here. But the silhouette he sees through the blurred glass isn’t tall enough to be Ron, and not nearly ginger enough.

“What are you doing here?” He asks, exposed to the cold once the door is open.

The pale man facing him straightens his coat’s collar in an uncharacteristically self-conscious demeanour. “I was nearby.”

“Nearby? There are no wizards in this part of London.” Harry attempts to keep his voice free from reproach and fails. He clenches his jaw.

“There are wizards in every part of London.”

The only reason Harry doesn’t smash his opponent’s nose in for showing up, for not looking the way he feels, for trying to converse, is the sleeping baby on his arm. With his throat as dry as sandpaper he replies: “There used to be.”

Seeing the pang of guilt on Draco Malfoy’s face before he overplays it isn’t nearly as satisfying as Harry thought it would be. Draco looks down at the small brown-haired being in Harry’s arms. “This must be-“ “Teddy.” Not a muscle twitches in Harry’s body as he keeps his stare fixed on Malfoy. Malfoy, who doesn’t have the right to pronounce his godson’s name.

“He looks a lot like you.”

“I think he’s just adapting, because for now I’m all he has. He was much paler when he was born.” _Why am I telling this_ , Harry bites his lip, _to him of all people?_

“You’re right. There even is a hint of your scar on his forehead. See?” Draco takes a hand out of his coat’s pocket and Harry intuitively pulls away, shielding Teddy with his own body.

The look on Malfoy’s face is piercing and reproachful for a second – _You think this badly of me?_ – and filled with unsatisfying guilt, even shame in the next.

“I didn’t mean to…” Harry’s words stumble and fade as he realises, no. He hadn’t noticed the faint copy of his scar on Teddy’s smooth, olive forehead. He hadn’t noticed how much the baby resembled him. Because every time he looked at his godson, he saw _them_. Remus. Tonks. Fred. Sirius. Those who hadn’t made it home. Those who’d left a child behind for him to take care of. His reaction to Malfoy’s harmless gesture now seems insulting and harsh. Harry wishes he could undo that split second, is there a charm for that?

“He’s probably getting cold” Draco remarks with a glance at the baby, “You’ve been letting the breeze in for a while now.”

“Yeah, yeah, you’re – you’re right. I should…“ Harry pulls Teddy tighter against his chest, stroking his fragile head. _Why didn’t I think of that? Why are the most obvious actions so overwhelming all of a sudden?_ “On another note, do you want to come inside?” He interrupts himself. Draco looks startled, but hurries to nod. “Yes, sure. Thanks.” And of course he was expecting to be invited in when he rang the doorbell, but that doesn’t stop a wave of – is it relief? – going through him as he steps across the threshold and shuts the door behind him. “Neat apartment.” He says. The hallway is mostly empty and its walls are bleached white, not seeming unfinished but rather finite in some way.

“You want tea?”

“Please don’t bother because of me.”

But Harry’s already on his way into the kitchen to put on the kettle. Again, Draco stands in the doorframe while Harry waits with Teddy in his arms, his expression empty. Draco tries to get a good look at him without making his staring too obvious.

“Go ahead, then.” Harry straightens his back, eyeing Malfoy.

“Excuse me?”

“Go ahead and mock me. _The chosen one’s looking like an overworked single dad living in the most boring, muggle-ridden neighbourhood. He can barely take care of himself. Should he be supervising a some-months-old child?_ I know that’s what everyone who’s come here thinks.” The kettle splashes out hot boiling water onto the kitchen counter. Teddy blinks his small, green eyes. Harry stares at Malfoy across the room with tired eyes.

Then he turns to open a cupboard and single-handedly lift two mugs out while holding a yawning baby with his other arm. When he nudges the cupboard door closed with his head, Draco takes a quick step forward: “Let me help.” “I’m fine.” “Just tell me where the teabags are.”

“… On your left.”

Draco opens the drawer next to him to retrieve two and place them in the mugs, then filling them with hot water.

“That’s not the point of me offering you tea.” Harry remarks dryly. Teddy squeals amusedly.

“I never meant to intrude.” Both mugs in his hands, Draco brings some distance between him and Harry, who reproachfully inquires: “Then what did you mean to do, _Malfoy_?”

The harsh pronunciation of his last name throws him back to Hogwarts and the countless hours spent scheming and slandering, all because of the person standing in front of him now.

“I want to help.” Malfoy answers truthfully.

But Harry scoffs and walks past him, leading the way into his living room. “I’ve got friends if I wanted help; friends who aren’t racists who stay in my company solely thanks to my family’s reputation.” He sinks down in an armchair, placing a protective hand on Teddy’s head. Draco takes a seat opposite Harry on a grey couch.

“Touché. Let me rephrase it, this is a peace offering.”

“A peace offering was me pulling you from the flames in the Room of Requirement. Also, you throwing me a wand. You’ve got your peace, even tea…” Harry nods at the mugs Draco placed on the coffee table, “I’d say that’s about the most you can get.”

Silence spreads out in the room, Harry’s disappointed glare still focused on Malfoy.

Who was fiddling with his hands. Who still had his coat on.

“When will Miss-Weasley-future-Potter be home?” Draco manages to sound lighthearted. As soon as he looks up again, he realises this must’ve been the wrong thing to ask. “Don’t answer that. I didn’t mean to -“

“She is home. It’s not here.” Harry interrupts, pushing his round glasses further up his nose and tousling his already tousled hair, “Because when you’ve got a brilliant, beautiful girlfriend who just this once needs you to be there for her after her family was ripped apart in a war you’re responsible for, you tell her you can’t have her around.” His lips form a thin line and he swallows hard.

“First of all, you are in _no way_ responsible for the – “ Draco starts, yet again to be interrupted.

“I shouldn’t have told you. It’s none of your business.”

Maybe it would’ve been easier on both of them had Harry just snapped. Instead, his silent resentfulness clogs the room like a poisonous fog. Draco breathes it in cautiously.

“Harry…” Saying his first name has a strange, exotic taste, “You do know you’re allowed, you’re entitled to give yourself a break and put yourself first for once.”

“Yeah, _okay_.” Even though Harry’s voice is barely more than a whisper, the sarcasm within speaks for itself.

“You’re taking care of a baby, running a muggle household _all on your own_ …”

“Don’t tell me what I’m doing.” Harry mumbles.

“Fine. Tell me what to do instead.” Draco sits up straighter.

 _LEAVE_ , Harry thinks about answering. Is that really what he wants? “Your, uh, tea’s getting cold.” Embarrassed by his final reply, he stares out the window, missing how Draco looks at him with - … is it bafflement? – and takes one of the mugs.


	2. Second Step.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know if that requires a trigger warning, but this chapter contains mentions of underage drinking.

Teddy coos as he’s gently being bounced up and down on Harry’s knees. After some painfully long minutes of Draco watching the scene and slowly sipping his tea, Harry gets up. “He needs his milk.”

“Can I help?” Draco rises to his feet too.

“Please sit down. I’ll be right back.” With a lump in his throat Harry turns his back on Draco and walks out. He puts Teddy in a baby-chair in the kitchen, rests both hands on the kitchen counter and blankly stares at the white wall in front of him. _Draco Malfoy is sitting on my couch,_ he thinks. _Why is Draco Malfoy sitting on my couch? Why am I okay with it?_ He crosses the room and stares at his blurry reflection on the immaculate fridge door. His eyes look tiny, distanced and empty.

And for the first time in weeks, he minds. He minds that his guilt, his sleep deprivation, his incapability to cope is there on his face for everyone to see. He minds because Malfoy – his former enemy, that snake – doesn’t look half as miserable, giving him the high ground and all the reasons to patronise Harry. Most of all, he minds how Draco doesn’t do any of that even though it would be like him, how he isn’t insulting but rather apologetic, even humble for once and attentive. Like a dog with the tail between its legs to right the wrongs of an entire cult.

Harry gets the milk powder and prepares Teddy’s meal in the microwave as his godson exclaims joyfully using several vowels while in the other room, Draco waits patiently, scanning the clean furniture that seems unused, unwanted.

It takes longer than the average milk-preparing-amount-of-time for Harry to return to the living room.

“You’re not using magic.” Draco observes, “Might I ask why?”

Looking at the tea and Teddy’s milk, Harry feels betrayed by his own actions. Hermione either didn’t notice or didn’t mind. Why would Malfoy?

“My wand broke.” He mumbles, which technically isn’t even a lie. In reality, his wand – fixed by the magic of the elder wand – is hidden away in a drawer, where he doesn’t plan on retrieving it from any time soon.

“Or just maybe – correct me if I’m out on a limb - you don’t want anything to do with magic right now. The muggle neighbourhood, the mundane life full of slow and honest chores… Does it take your mind off things?”

Shut up Malfoy, Harry wants to snap. “What a terribly forward thing to say.” He replies instead, detached. Malfoy straightens his posture. “It would be a reasonable coping mechanism.”

“You talk to me about coping mechanisms? Do you even have anything to cope with?” At last some of the reproachfulness inside Harry finds its way out of his mouth. He’s not proud of it and the more surprised at Draco’s composed answer: “Nothing compared to you and your friends. We sold the mansion. My father’s in Azkaban.”

“But you aren’t.”

“Yeah, I’d drink to that.”

“As coping mechanisms go, that seems to be the muggles of this area’s favourite.”

“Drinking?”

“Yes. Some nights there are shouting teenagers in the alley. It wakes Teddy up.” Surprised at how easily telling his former nemesis such trivialities comes to him, Harry gets back to feeding Teddy the bottle.

For a while Draco simply watches.

The metaphorical ice between them isn’t broken yet but cracks are stretching out through it. Harry needs company, he needs help, he needs to talk. And Draco wants to listen, to make it up to him because he cares. He’s cared all along. As an eleven-year-old he cared reaching out his hand and attempting to ask for friendship. When he got brushed off he cared and needed to be the first of his class for years to come just to prove himself. Each time they competed in class or in Quidditch matches or by scheming against each other, he cared so much it hurt. How could anyone call Slytherins cold?

“You know I’m his uncle?” Draco asks cautiously, setting foot on the fragile ice.

Harry thinks for a moment. It always slips his mind how dorky Tonks had been related to a whole family of Death Eaters, she’d really been Draco’s cousin.

“You’re not going to fight Andromeda and me for custody, are you?” Harry deadpans.

“Not at all. He seems to be in good hands.”

Teddy coos, sucking on his now half-empty bottle. Silently, Harry watches his godson drink.

All the hostility he felt towards Malfoy now feels inappropriate, misplaced. Even though he doesn’t understand his motives for taking the time to be here, he’s acutely aware of the consequences: Forgiving Malfoy, or accepting this new attitude of his means he himself becoming the only one to stick the blame on.

“What about Aunt Andromeda though?” Draco picks up the thread. When he was younger that’s what he used to call her until his parents forbid it.

“Well, at first I basically lived at her place and we took turns in caring for Teddy. But she wasn’t really there, having lost her only child and her husband only months before. When I offered to take him full time she didn’t argue. I think she went to Belfast to meet Ted’s parents. … Her husband’s parents.” Harry wonders whether he’s wrong to assume Malfoy doesn’t know his dead muggle-uncle’s name. He smiles at Teddy who’s staring at Draco with giant green eyes. “…Your nephew likes you.” He adds quietly.

“It seems that way, doesn’t it? Maybe the little man’s just being polite. Or he’s happy you fed him.”

Not knowing how to handle that light humour from Draco’s part, Harry stays silent and lets Teddy bounce up and down on his knee. The infant giggles and only stops to yawn.

“Someone’s tired.” Draco notices, placing his empty mug on the table, “And I guess I’ve already stayed my welcome. Thanks for the tea and the talk…”

Unexpected panic rushes to Harry’s head. _Don’t leave_ , he wants to blurt out, _the apartment gets so big when Teddy’s asleep._ “You’re, uh, welcome.” He replies awkwardly. When Draco gets up he feels the urge to grab his wrist and beg, _the lights become too bright and I can’t bear the sound of my own steps. Don’t let me be alone._

“Can I help you to clean up?” The blond boy asks and, flooded with relief, Harry shrugs and says “Sure.”

From a safe distance Draco watches Harry put Teddy into the crib in the bedroom, spin the mobile above it, hum something a lot like a lullaby and switch on a nightlight even though it’s only in the late afternoon.

He follows Harry into the kitchen where the dark-skinned boy fills the sink with water and washing up liquid while Draco grabs a towel. In silence, they clean the two mugs and all parts of the milk bottle until they are shiny and back in the cupboard where they came from.

They listen to the gargling sound of the leftover water disappearing down the drain.

Both of them pretend not to notice the dishwasher standing so obviously underneath the kitchen counter.

“Thanks for giving me a hand.” Harry breaks the silence.

“Thanks again for the tea.” Draco replies.

They stand there uncomfortably.

Just before Draco turns to leave, Harry blurts: “You don’t have to go.”

Surprised, Draco stops dead in his tracks.

“I mean, unless you want to. Unless you have anything to do. I could check if I have some firewhiskey?” Harry babbles.

“Of course. I wouldn’t mind.” Draco answers with so much self-composure that Harry’s own lack thereof frustrates him beyond the imaginable. _This is worse than talking to Cho Chang_ , crosses his mind and he pushes the thought back.

He checks the cupboards even though he knows they’re empty.

How genius of him to jump making an offer for something he doesn’t have.

“It looks like I’m all out of liquor.” Truth is, he never had any. Ron was the one in his friend circle with the alcohol stock and the few times they’d drunk in secret at the Burrow – once at Grimmauld Place, too – Harry had been past tipsy before his best friend even started feeling the alcohol’s effects. Maybe it was because of his lean statue or the fact that he didn’t grow up with five brothers, but in terms of alcohol tolerance he couldn’t compete with Ron.

“I saw a muggle store down the alley, they seemed to be selling that sort of beverages.” Draco offers, “Should we quickly head down there?” Harry hesitates, then nods. He takes two minutes to tie the sleeping Teddy around his chest with a muggle-made baby sling – Draco watches in silent astonishment – and throw on a warm leather jacket.

Feeling out of place in his dark cape, Draco follows him out of the white, white apartment.


	3. Third Step.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now this chapter contains *actual* underage drinking, just as a head's up for those who may not be comfortable with that kind of thing. It also contains a lot of other things that I won't spoil. Enjoy!

The breeze outside is cold and Harry tries pulling his jacket shut across Teddy in the sling. Luckily enough, the shop Draco meant is only a short walk away from the apartment. It’s tiny and stuffed and a grumpy lady with a bit of a beard is smoking in the back. When she hears the bell ring as they enter, she shuffles behind the counter.

“Whaddaya need?” She asks in a raspy voice.

Draco steps forward confidently. “We’d like some firewhiskey, please.”

“I got Jack Daniels if that’s what ya mean?”

Confused, Draco turns to Harry, who jumps to his help: “Yes, exactly.”

“How many?”

“Two…uh, two bottles please, ma’am.”

After eyeing the breathing bundle on Harry’s chest judgementally she turns and grabs two bottles of Jack Daniels from the shelf behind her. Draco reaches out to take them, but she pulls back. “Uh-uh. First, I’ll need to see some I.D., lads.”

Indignantly, Draco stands up taller. “Do you even know who you’re talking to, ma'am?!”

She stares him dead in the eyes. “Maybe I would. If the two of you showed me some bloody I.D.!”

Harry pushes himself between her and Draco, who seems to be fuming, and puts a wrinkled ₤50-note on the counter. “We forgot our I.D. at home, but you’re uh welcome to keep the change.”

For a moment she glares at him, then at the money suspiciously. Draco watches awkwardly, keeping his mouth shut.

Finally, the lady takes the ₤50-note and shakes her head, muttering something about a spoiled generation under her breath. When neither Harry nor Draco move, she makes a shooing motion. “Well, off with you buggers! It’s all yours!”

Draco inhales sharply, but before he can speak up Harry grabs both bottles and pulls Draco along towards the door, saying “Have a nice day!” as the shop owner utters something sounding a lot like “Damn gay irresponsible underage drinkers!”

Furiously, Draco spins around, but Harry yanks him back, giving him an intent stare that says “Leave it alone.”

Outside of the shop Draco shrugs Harry’s hand off. “Why do you let yourself be treated that way? She was just a filthy muggle, she had no place to –“ “That’s racist.” Harry interrupts, his eyes flaring, “And besides, her being disrespectful doesn’t mean we have to act the same way, that’d just lead to everyone being mean and offended. She didn’t know better. So what? That’s not worth ruining everyone’s day over.”

Even though Harry’s shorter than him, Draco feels like he just shrunk to the size of a Niffler, and he keeps silent in spite of his desperate need to lash out in order to come out on top of this conversation. He wants to protest, _she was a despicable person, deserving to have a lesson taught,_ but then he pictures Harry sneering: “But people don’t get what they deserve, do they? Do you deserve to be here with me after so many of my friends have died?” Knowing that it’s his subconscious talking and that Harry probably wouldn’t say such a thing makes him feel no less like he just took a punch to the gut. He can’t bear to look up at Harry.

After a moment of oppressive silence, the black-haired boy inhales softly. “It’s getting cold and dark. Let’s head back.”

They get moving lethargically until Harry adds self-consciously: “I didn’t mean to scold you.”

Still not looking at him, Draco shakes his head. “You were right to, I’m sorry.”

“Let’s just forget about it, yeah?” Harry offers, wanting nothing more than for the guilt between them to be gone.

 

Once they’re inside the apartment again, the first thing Harry does is prepare another small bottle of milk for Teddy. When he’s done feeding him, he patiently changes his diapers and lays him down into the crib. Draco, who watched everything from a safe distance with a strange tickling feeling in his stomach, steps next to Harry and looks down. “Now there’s one happy, sleepy boy.” He observes and Harry, all focused on his godson with an exasperated sort of tenderness, replies: “Yeah, he gets like that when he’s full.”

For a while they just stand there and watch Teddy’s eyelids grow heavier.

Then, out of the blue, Draco opens his mouth and begins to sing softly: “ _Fairies dance and Thestrals prance / House elves work at night / Dragons fly and Mandrakes cry / Outside is no more light._ ”

Completely baffled, Harry stares up at Draco.

His skin looks almost translucent in the dark. And he continues to the lullaby’s chorus: “ _Nox, small wizard, close your eyes / The sun will rise again / I’ll cast Lumos, turn the time / Re-start where we began._ ”

Teddy’s eyes are shut, he breathes regularly. His cheek rests against a muggle wolf plush toy.

Draco stops singing.

And Harry tries to figure out where he heard that melody before and what he could possibly say to Malfoy. They end up waiting next to the crib for at least two more minutes, and finally both of them walk out in silence.

Standing in the hallway, Harry clears his throat. “That was a beautiful lullaby.”

“My mother always sang a version of it to me. A long, long time ago.”

“I think Tonks used to sing it to Teddy, too.”

Draco looks up at Harry and his tired, emerald eyes. He fights the urge to apologise, to comfort him, to try and get closer all at the same time.

“Let’s get the drinks, shall we?” Harry heads towards their previous purchases on the kitchen counter and stops halfway there. “I, uh, don’t own any whiskey glasses.”

“I don’t mind drinking from the bottle as long as you don’t mind.”

So they sit down on Harry’s couch and Draco unscrews the first bottle’s lid. “Have you done this before?”

“No.” Without looking at Draco, Harry takes the first sip. It burns, and not a single part of it tastes even close to good. What do muggles see in it? But as if he’s trying to prove something, he takes two more generous chugs before handing the bottle back to Malfoy. Draco.

Still no eye contact.

For a while they just keep passing it back and forth, both doing their best not to cough. Harry waits to feel lightheaded and carefree. Draco waits for Harry to say something.

They both get disappointed.

“Before today, I’ve never seen a baby put to bed.” Draco softly breaks the silence.

“How dare you?” Harry retorts sarcastically, “You’re seventeen and you’ve never had to care for a newborn before? You should be ashamed.”

Surprised at how relieving it is to hear Potter – Harry – say something witty again, Draco smiles. “We can’t all be as tough as Harry freaking Potter.”

Harry laughs faintly, almost bitterly. He stares at the more empty than full bottle in his hands and asks with a faded smile: “You know what the funny thing is?”

An edge to his voice lets Draco suspect that whatever it is, it’s not really funny.

Not waiting for an answer, Harry continues: “We’re not legally old enough to drink this… and yet we’ve had to bury half the people we know. We’ve been tortured. But we’re not _old enough_ …” He stops and puts the bottle on the coffee table.

Guilt overwhelms Draco. It’s not right of Harry to include him in his _we_ , there is no version of this where he gets to be a victim… He thinks of his mother pleading: “ _He’s just a boy!_ ” And than he wonders if maybe all survivors are victims, maybe just one little bit…

“I spend a lot of time wishing I was among the dead” Harry admits, still not looking at Draco, “Being a martyr would’ve been a lot …easier.”

Draco attempts to order the right words in his dizzy head. “You see, that’s where we’re different. You having survived lets the people know their loved ones didn’t die in vain. They need that. The only person who would’ve mourned me is my mother.”

“You’re wrong.” Harry contradicts instinctively.

“Don’t be silly. Who else would care?”

“I would. I would now.” Harry feels the weight of his words only after he says them. He swallows and looks at Malfoy. Pale, handsome Malfoy.

“I think we’ve had enough of this.” Draco clears his throat and screws the bottle shut.

For a moment Harry just stares at him. He suddenly can’t take his eyes off him, like he needs to make up for all the avoided eye contact before. The stern look on Draco’s face makes him appear only more graceful.

“I mean what I said!” Harry insists, “It’s not the whiskey’s fault.”

Why, that’s even worse, Draco thinks and bites his lip. “I’ll head home now.” He decides and abruptly stands up. The room starts spinning around him wildly. “Whoa.” More or less voluntarily, he sinks back into his seat, mumbling: “I need a second.”

“You’re welcome to stay.” Harry mutters. While Draco is busy reassembling his brain cells, he adds: “On one condition, though.”

“Yeah?”

He pushes his glasses up his nose and faces Draco. “No more guilt. I’ve had it with guilt and death wishes.”

Draco straightens his back and turns in towards Harry, too. “Just two minutes ago you were saying you wish you’d died.”

“Well, I made up my mind. Wishing and self-pity won’t get us anywhere.”

“You’re totally plastered, Potter.”

“Tipsy at best. What do you say?”

Draco can’t help but notice how Harry keeps easing closer. The worst part is, he doesn’t mind. On the contrary. He feels the lump in his throat growing. “If there’s no more hatred between us, and no more guilt either…” His heart pumping, he briefly licks his lips.

“That’s my one condition.” Harry interjects.

“…Then what’s left?” Draco finishes. This feeling in his chest is worse than dizziness, and he’s sure enough it has nothing to do with the whiskey.

“We could try and be friends?” Harry suggests, as if he’s oblivious to how close they are to touching. It’s provocative on a whole new level. They linger for a moment – _Doesn’t Harry notice?_ – and Draco’s heart beats faster and faster and faster.

Finally, to keep himself from imploding with all of his yearning, Draco leans over to the coffee table and re-opens their Jack Daniels.

“To friendship.” He toasts and takes a massive chug before handing Harry the bottle. He was hoping that the alcohol’s burning sensation would replace what was driving him mad – in vain.


	4. Fourth Step.

“Hey, look at this.” Harry holds up the bottle and a short giggle escapes his mouth: “We drank all of it!”

“Well, how do you feel?” Draco asks, hoping his voice doesn’t betray the mayhem in his head.

“I feel like I really don’t want to get up.” Harry answers matter-of-factly and slowly looks at the ceiling, “Everything’s a bit blurry around the edges. It feels like each of my eyes is seeing separately.”

The lump in his throat keeps Draco from breathing properly and yet he keeps looking at Harry’s profile, slightly nodding along to his words.

Then Harry continues in a self-sceptical-tone: “I also feel old. Like a lot of time has passed since… since Hogwarts. Since you rang my doorbell. Since we put Teddy to sleep.”

Silence. Breathing.

“You should go to sleep too.” Draco advises softly, his elbow supporting his head.

Harry shrugs. “Can you help me get there?”

“…Sure.”

They stand up shakily. Like a slow, disoriented parade they make it into the hallway. It’s just Harry leading the way and Draco following a few steps behind, but neither of them addresses the fact that Harry could’ve done this easily on his own.

Harry tries finding the light switch and advances into the black when he doesn’t, but then he stops halfway into the bedroom. Draco almost bumps into him. “What is it?”

Silence. Breathing.

Harry’s voice is quivering when he replies: “I… I can’t stand the dark.”

“ _Lumos_.”

Between them, Draco’s wand lights up, spreading its fuzzy, warm light.

Still shaking, Harry stares at it, all exposed in his weakness and conflicted because he’d promised he was done with magic. He needed the break from it to feel occupied, but now there’s Draco, in his bedroom, shining a light.

He feels himself quieting down.

He slides onto his covers and finds the switch of his nightlamp.

“Thank you.”

Draco, still standing in the centre of the room, extinguishes his wand wordlessly and puts it away.

“You can stay.” Harry offers sheepishly. His skin looks like cream chocolate in the dim lamplight and Draco wants to touch him so badly it hurts.

He clears his throat. “I’ll take the couch then.” Draco nods, the hint of a pained smile on his lips, and turns to leave.

“Good night.” Harry calls after him, and even if there was an answer he didn’t hear it because he was already slipping away into a deep sleep.

 

Harry dreams.

They’re in Tonks’ house, and she’s holding Teddy.

Both her and her son’s hair are bright turquoise.

Harry doesn’t sit too far away, so he hears her sing in her raspy voice: “ _Werewolves scowl and werewolves howl / The moon is full tonight / Werewolves fight and werewolves bite! / You’re in for a fright!_ ” She laughs unrestrainedly and starts tickling her baby, who squeaks with joy.

I know that melody! Harry realises triumphantly in his dream, feeling a light pressure on his hand. When he looks down, then left, there’s Draco holding his hand, smiling cautiously like he knows something Harry doesn’t.

That’s when he startles awake uneasily. For a while he keeps laying down, re-playing everything as long as he still recalls it. Aren’t dreams supposed to be prophetic? He wonders, growing more confused with every second. Maybe it’s all just because of the whiskey?

Harry shifts and ruffles his hair, until he hears a clinking of cutlery from the kitchen.

Quicker than thought he’s up and putting on his glasses, sprinting to Teddy’s crib.

There’s Teddy. Asleep. And white-haired.

Only then Harry remembers he has a visitor.

“Top of the morning.” Draco greets from the kitchen, holding up two cups.

“You’re making tea?” Harry asks groggily.

One side of Draco’s mouth twitches upwards in a smile. “Yes. I didn’t want to sneak out of your apartment like the ashamed leftovers of a fling of some sort. I hope that’s okay.” Offering one of the teacups, Draco takes a step towards Harry.

There is no reason for me to be abashed, Harry thinks frantically as he accepts the tea, remembering the warmth of Draco’s hands in his dream, the warmth of his smile, the warmth of his wandlight in the narrowing bedroom, the warmth of whiskey running down his throat…

Funnily enough, warmth is the last thing he thought he’d ever associate with Malfoy.

Then again, so is Teddy with his now bright blond hair. So is Earl Grey in his muggle apartment’s kitchen.

“Teddy’s a sound sleeper.” Blowing on his tea, Draco hints into the bedroom’s direction.

“These days he is, yeah.”

“I checked on him when I woke up. From what I’ve heard, most babies are a lot more demanding and, well, noisier.”

Harry freezes, not sure what to think. “You, uh, you… checked on him?”

“I did.”

Is that supposed to make him feel threatened, perturbed? Yet again unable to figure out what he makes of this, he settles for: “Uh, thank you.”

And while Draco replies with “Don’t mention it”, he interrupts: “Would you like some toast?”

Draco seems to relax where he’s standing and smiles just a little. “Actually, I would.”

Harry crosses the kitchen, finding half a load of bread in a plastic wrapper, and when Draco asks if he can help, he doesn’t even hesitate to answer: “Sure, thanks.” He stops dead in his tracks as soon as he sees two plates being levitated out of the cupboard with a flick of Malfoy’s wand. Stop bloody gaping, he mentally scolds himself and hurries to place butter, honey and jam on the meagre kitchen table manually. Finally, he lifts a rusty muggle toaster off its shelf and slams it down more aggressively than intended.

Draco sits down in one of the chairs. “I’m just going to address the elephant in the room. Do you want to explain what’s up with the no-magic-issue? It can’t be your wand.” His voice is gentle, making Harry feel even more like a stubborn child when he sits down with a lot less composure.

Harry exhales. And – “It’s not like I want to relive the worst years of my life by doing this. I just… I can’t have everything being easy. I can’t have time to think! You of all people should understand this.” The words pour out. “…Bread?” He adds and stabs his knife into the loaf, cutting off two slices.

“Yes, thank you” Draco accepts and puts his wand down on the table, “But you can’t abandon magic just because it hurts to be able to do all these brilliant, simple things when it wasn’t enough to prevent what happened.”

Chewing his lip, Harry places the bread in the toaster. “Good to know you understand. Just… let me do things the hard way for a while.”

They stay silent until the slices pop back out of the machine and Harry burns his fingers handing one to Draco. “Jam or honey? I’ve got some cheese in the fridge too –“ “Honey’s fine, thank you.”

Without saying anything else, Harry gets to devouring his piece of toast – honey, too – and doesn’t even notice how intently Draco watches him. Compared to the blond boy, all of his actions from just now, yesterday, how he’s been living for the past weeks, suddenly seem embarrassingly childish to him. Then again, organising and thinking everything through never had been his strongest suit.

“I didn’t mean to criticise you” Draco ends the silence, his bread half-finished, “You’re doing an extraordinary job here, balancing the needs of a child with your own, not everyone would be in a position to do that.”

_Bullshit_ , Harry wants to snap, _nothing here is even slightly balanced_. Instead, he murmurs “But you would” under his breath.

“What did you say?”

Before answering, Harry places his knife on the empty plate and sits up straight. “You. You waltz in here all decent and polite like you didn’t spend the last seven years bullying everyone around you. You talk, you shine a light, bloody hell you _check on my godson_ while I’m asleep… There’s nothing you wouldn’t excel at, is there? Seeker, Prefect, redeemed Death-Eater - “ Harry’s cataract of words finds an abrupt end when it’s interrupted by crying from the bedroom. He pushes back his chair and signals for Draco to wait. “I’ll go get him.”

A minute later he’s back with Teddy hoisted up on his hip; blond-headed Teddy who opens and closes his tiny fist at Draco as soon as he sees him.

Draco can’t help but smile. “Well, good morning to you too!”

Harry prepares Teddy’s milk and then sits back down at the small kitchen table with him on his lap. While Harry feeds his godson, Draco clears his throat. “For the record, there are a lot of things I don’t excel at. The whole world knows which one of us is the better Quidditch player. They also know who stood on the right side of the war. Ask Teddy who’s been taking care of him the whole time, that’s not me. Yesterday, I felt dizzy long before you did, you win again. So your perception of me, much like your self-perception seems damaged, Potter.” Draco says the last bit only for old times’ sake.

“You’ve become shockingly humble.” Harry remarks, because it’s the only reply he can think of.

And Draco smirks. “Only to boost your self-confidence.”

Teddy, who refuses to hold his own milk, claps his hands together and laughs. For the first time in he doesn’t remember how long Harry allows himself a guilt-free, non-apologetic, shy smile. Stroking Teddy’s head like millions of times before he promptly wonders whether it would feel the same to run his hands through Draco’s hair. The thought creates a lump in his stomach.

At the same time, it feels like his biggest accomplishment to Draco that he made the gorgeous green-eyed boy across the table lighten up.


	5. Fifth Step.

Each one of them eats two more slices of toast and Teddy finishes his bottle of milk before the doorebell rings. Setting down his empty teacup, Draco asks: “Are you expecting visitors?”

“I, uh…” Harry doesn’t finish, he stands up with Teddy hoisted on his hips and leaves to get the door. “Andromeda!” He calls out once he’s opened it, loud enough for Draco to hear. “How was Belfast?” She roughly outlines the content of her stay with Ted’s parents while taking off her cape to reveal a dress full of stitches and patches underneath. Ever since her daughter died, she didn’t once wear black but instead outrageous colour-combinations and ragged pieces of clothing mixed together to honour Tonks’ memory. “Now how is my grandson doing?” Gently, she takes Teddy from Harry’s arms.

“He sleeps a lot. Still chews on everything he can get his hands on.”

“When did he go blond?” Andromeda plays with the wisps of light hair covering Teddy’s head.

“Uh, just this morning. …Possibly overnight.”

“It reminds me of Cissa.”

Now Harry feels his cheeks getting warmer.

“Hi, Andromeda.” Draco leans against the frame of the kitchen door, having figured there is no point in hiding or escaping through the narrow window now. His aunt freezes, then finally says: “I didn’t expect to see you. Least of all here.”

Sweat runs down Harry’s neck. He knows how strange this must look.

But Draco stands tall and appears confident enough. “I was offering my help.”

“Of course. Harry, love, could you get a blanket for Teddy? I’ll be off in a minute.”

In no position to disobey her determined tone, Harry disappears into the bedroom. Andromeda walks into the kitchen and shuts the door behind Draco while holding Teddy in her arms.

“You’ve made an impression on him.” She looks into his eyes sternly, causing him to feel incredibly powerless of a sudden. This woman, his aunt, took the courage to stand up to her family and in return, her husband and daughter were killed. How could he even begin to explain how sorry he is?

He nods at the baby and tries to smile. “You mean the hair?”

“I’m not talking about Teddy. Harry is a good boy.”

Draco blinks. He manages to press out an “I know”.

“He’s a good boy and if you came here looking for redemption, he can’t give that to you.” Andromeda’s eyes, the same as his mother’s, are still fixed on him and never before has he felt so exposed in his life. But then she continues: “Only you can do that. Do you hear me? You are not your family’s choices.”

After a moment of silence he swallows and his voice breaks in an attempt to thank her. He realises that until this moment he never really had an aunt before. Bellatrix couldn’t count, and before today all Andromeda had been to him was a charred piece of tapestry.

“I’m taking my grandson home. You’re invited to step by if you want to talk; you’re my nephew after all.” Andromeda smiles reluctantly, a smile that says _I can forgive because I’ve lost so much already._

“Thank you.” Draco repeats. He barely registers her leaving and exchanging some words with Harry in the hallway before the door falls shut. Her words _You’ve made an impression on him, Harry’s a good boy and if you came here looking for redemption, he can’t give that to you_ are spinning around in his head and making him feel nauseous and overwhelmed. He only snaps out of it when Harry re-enters the kitchen empty-handed.

“Will you help me clean up?”

Absent-mindedly Draco puts jars back where they belong, dries plates and cups after Harry washes them in the sink and helps return the kitchen to the immaculate state it was in before – all without raising his wand once, the muggle way.

“What did she say to you?” Harry inquires politely, like he didn’t stand right outside the kitchen door.

“A bunch of things.”

“Are you okay?”

“I’m going to head back home. I’ve outstayed my welcome.” Draco brushes past Harry into the hallway, pretending he doesn’t hear the mumbled “You haven’t.” When he finishes putting his shoes and coat back on, their eyes meet across the bright, narrow hallway.

 _What did I do wrong?_ Harry wants to ask as Draco stands still like a deer in headlights, only the headlights are Potter’s ridiculously green eyes.

Harry steps forwards: “Let me get the door for you.”

Already outside, Draco does a quick bow. Or maybe he’s just checking his shoes. “Thank you for having me.” It feels like he should be saying more, but he can’t.

“It’s okay. I liked this. Us.” At this point, Harry’s not even in control of which words come out of his mouth any more. There’s an ache in both of their chests, but before anything becomes of it, Draco rushes away and disapparates in the middle of the street.

Harry is left behind to wonder _Why didn’t I stop him? Now I’m completely alone, with even Teddy gone._ He closes the door and shakes his head, slowly making his way into the living room. _I didn’t expect him to stay forever, did I? Merlin’s sock drawer, I need to get over myself. I can’t have grown used to being on good terms with my former arch nemesis that quickly, can I?_ Harry ruffles his hair and sits down on the couch, allowing his mind to drift off, facing mundane questions like where people put empty bottles of alcohol, what he’s supposed with the leftover whiskey. And without meaning to, he walks into his bedroom to pick up his wand from inside the nightstand. He doesn't even need to do anything for his heart to begin beating like a drum, no like the whole drum set. He imagines what it would be like to cast _Lumos_ and have light spread through the sparsely lit room, sending surges of warmth through Harry – until he snaps out of it, locking away his wand again, feeling like he’s betrayed himself.

 

* * *

 

 

His doorbell rings later that day. He scolds himself for hoping that it’s Draco despite all odds, and freezes when he sees Hermione… with Ron standing behind her. “Hi, Harry.” He mutters, looking even more miserable than the time in Year Six when he’d been poisoned and a bezoar was shoved down his throat. The shadows under his eyes seem to spread out over his entire face.

“Can we come in?” Hermione asks and Harry lets them, unable to really react.

They don’t say anything about his apartment, they simply sit down on his couch, and Harry in the chair opposite them. He notices their hands are clasped together. He doesn’t offer them something to drink.

“I’m sorry we didn’t see each other much lately” Ron speaks up hoarsely.

 _At all_ , Harry thinks. Mechanically, he replies: “Me too.”

“I was mad at you for breaking up with Ginny. We were all grieving and you just… shut yourself out.”

“I didn’t mean to do that.” _Maybe I did._

“For a while it was easier not having you around” Hermione squeezes Ron’s hand and he goes on: “But it’s not any more. I’m sorry, Harry.”

Something gives Harry the impression that they rehearsed that speech, and he clenches his teeth. “That’s nice” he says, not looking at them, “That’s delightful how you get to decide when you want me around. I’m flattered. Let me tell you, I was mad at you too.” Harry scrunches up his nose and when he feels all the repressed disappointment from the past weeks well up in him, it’s already too late to stop: “I was mad at you for having each other, for having a family that was supposed to be my family too when I had nothing but guilt and a bloody child to take care of! You didn’t cut me off because of Ginny but because it was my name that made those people go to war and die.” Harry swallows his tears and massages his own fists.

“We know full well that Voldemort is the one responsible for all those deaths.” Hermione interjects softly.

The best argument he can come up with is: “Still!”

Hermione’s and Ron’s hands continue to tangle in different ways and it’s giving Harry a headache.

“We know we’ve been self-absorbed shits lately! What do you want us to do?” Ron demands, more upset by the second.

“Nothing. It’s fine now.” Harry gives back, very indifferent all of a sudden.

“Harry, have you been _drinking_?” Hermione’s voice shoots about an octave upwards as soon as she spots the two bottles that Harry was brilliant enough to move from on top of the coffee table to underneath the coffee table.

“No?” He lies bluntly, as if they can’t tell that one of them is empty.

“This isn’t _fine_! This damages your organs! Besides, how can you be so utterly irresponsible –“I didn’t drink it alone.” Harry cuts her off. Both Ron and Hermione stare at him. “You can’t have expected me to patiently pass the time all alone until you come crawling back to me?” Incidentally, that is exactly what he’d been doing before Draco showed up. He continues: “So someone came along and decided I was good enough and worthy of their time. So someone was there for me when you weren’t. Do you blame me? Am I not allowed to have what you’ve got?” Even though he didn’t mean to, he points at their intertwined fingers.

Ron’s face is hot and red like he’s this close to jumping up and shouting: “Why not Ginny? Why did you replace her?” Hermione is all that stands between him and throwing a fit, and she asks carefully: “Who is it?”

All of a sudden, Harry feels like he’s in no place to share this. “I can’t tell you.”

“We’re still your friends” Hermione insists, “And we’re here now.”

Are they guilt-tripping him? Do they even deserve to be in on this? Then he remembers the past seven years, the plotting in their Common Room, in the Girls’ Bathroom, in The Three Broomsticks. Countless hugs and letters and cheers at Quidditch games. What’s one night compared to half a dozen years of companionship at Hogwarts plus going Horcrux-hunting and fighting side by side?

“It’s Draco. Malfoy.” He admits, his hands folded, now sure of himself.


	6. Sixth Step.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Up until now I was pretty consistent with the daily updates, but I interrupted it because I grew obsessed with jacksepticeye playing Detroit: Becoming Human (great game, check it out). Also for other reasons I won't be able to keep it up, but I have multiple chapters of this written down to be edited, so there is more coming your way, just ...not as quickly as before.

Ron’s jaw drops. “This is a joke, innit?”

“Not in the mood, actually.” Harry shoots back, waiting for them to say something hurtful.

But Hermione clears her throat and leans forward: “I’m sorry. I don’t quite understand. Is this the same person who watched his aunt mutilate my forearm? The same person you’ve hated for seven years? Who you disarmed?”

“Who you saved from the flames in the Room Of Requirement?” Ron adds ruefully.

“He is. But he also isn’t.” Harry’s fingers start fidgeting and he tries to find the right words, “This time, there are no more sides and he’s… he’s making an effort, you know?”

Hermione looks into his eyes with the same expression she’d worn when he first told them he could speak to snakes. “No, and that’s the problem. We don’t _know_ , Harry.”

Suddenly he begins to wonder whether his friends are right in doubting Malfoy’s character, and to convince himself and them of the opposite, the entire story pours out of his mouth bit by bit. How Draco rang the bell and patiently waited for the ice to break over a cuppa. How he didn’t want him to leave, how he let the muggle alcohol seller be, how he sang a lullaby for Teddy out of nowhere. How they talked about death wishes, guilt and friendship over a bottle of whiskey. How Teddy had subconsciously morphed himself to look like Draco in the morning. He can’t stop the words from flowing out, but frankly he doesn’t want to, either. Dwelling on the memories makes him feel just a little like Draco’s still there.

Yet he leaves out some details, like how Draco cast _Lumos_ , or what he dreamt. That feels too private, even for his two closest friends. Once he’s done, he almost anxiously waits for them to react.

They haven’t interrupted him at all, and now their silence seems suspicious.

“He sounds very… changed.” Ron finally says dryly.

“And sincere.” Hermione chimes in, clutching Ron’s hands, “Harry, we’re so sorry we let you down.”

“I’m no good alone.” Harry admits, but she continues: “It shouldn’t matter who was there for you, it matters that someone was. It’s nice you’re friends.”

It matters that it was him, Harry thinks and stirs, then convinces himself to calm down, and he turns to his first friend. “Ron?”

The ginger snaps back into reality and focuses on putting on a neutral expression that doesn’t betray how torn he is. “Yeah, I’m…er… glad for you, mate. I definitely didn’t see that coming.”

“Neither did I, trust me.” Relieved that they both seem okay with the news, Harry smiles at his best friends.

Hermione beams back at him. “So, when are you going to see him again?”

The question catches Harry off guard, he scrambles to push his glasses up and mumbles: “Actually, I don’t… I don’t know.” And he knows how stupid he must look now, first raving about how changed and supportive Draco is when they only met once without setting up a second date. A… date for hanging out as friends do, that is. He feels the urge to slap himself.

“That’s fine! I didn’t mean to puzzle you of course!” Hermione eagerly answers, “You look like you haven’t been sleeping much, and it’s quite rude of me to ask such a thing. Just… Harry, I need you to know that we – we care and we still support you no matter what.”

“No matter what.” Ron agrees meekly, which only creates more chaos in Harry’s head.

He barely manages to force out a bleak “Thanks.”

“Man, I get that we chose a bad time to come by. I’m just glad you’d still talk to us.” Ron admits and smiles nervously, revealing some of the dorky companion he always used to be.

They both look at him caringly, he almost can’t stand it and Hermione suggests gently: “How about we send you an owl some time? We could go to the Leaky Cauldron and just spend a few hours.”

The realisation of how much he’s missed them replaces his embarrassment and the corners of his mouth twitch upwards. “That sounds good.”

“Oh, Harry.” Without a warning, Hermione gets up and hugs him tightly. In her arms, his cheeks ticked by her fuzzy hair, he allows himself to relax for the first time. When she pulls back her eyes are a little watery, yet she smiles bravely. “We’re all just trying to heal, aren’t we?”

The lump in his throat prevents Harry from answering. As he accompanies them to the front door, he thinks of Hedwig and bites his tongue, wondering how long it’ll take for him to be ready to send an owl again.

At the door, Ron hugs him too, he smells of Molly’s knitting yarn and firewood, and pats his back. Neither of them has the right words, so Harry watches Hermione and Ron walk out into the street again, waving and nodding a little awkwardly.

Once they’re a minute away from the apartment, they lock hands and keep walking like an ordinary muggle couple.

Unlike Draco, they don’t disapparate.

Unlike Draco, Harry didn’t ask them to stay.

His head hurts. In his bright, empty apartment, he prepares himself a glass of water. Then he lies down on the couch that still faintly smells of Draco’s subtle cologne. Hermione was right, he desperately needs to rest.

Without really meaning to, he drifts off into a deep, long sleep.

 

Upon waking, he can’t remember whether or not he dreamed this time. And he’s thankful for it, because his last confusing dream isn’t done haunting him. He pushes the thought away and looks outside, seeing nothing.

It’s night again.

Somehow it doesn’t bother him that he slept through an entire day, his mind simply keeps wandering back to approximately 24-hours-ago when he and Draco sat here. Unsure of what he’s doing, Harry walks into his bedroom as if in trance and waits in front of his bedside drawer.

_No more guilt_ , his own voice echoes in his head, and he repeats it to himself, slowly making a decision. At last he opens the drawer and retrieves his eleven-inch phoenix feather wand.

Like when he first held it in Ollivander’s shop he feels a warmth spreading out from his fingertips. For a moment, he’s an eleven year-old boy again, perhaps bullied and lied to but also hopeful. Then the weight of the past seven years seems to return and with it the shadows of everyone he and this wand failed to save. Cedric. Sirius. Tonks.

“Lumos” he whispers weakly, then louder: “Lumos!” The darkness recedes with each breath and Harry gains back control of his spiralling thoughts. Light fills the entire room and it appears to him like he just rid himself of shackles he’d been trapped in for too long.

Flooded with surprise and relief he extinguishes his wand and stores it away in his pocket, heading for the kitchen.

For the first time in a long, long while he feels ready to take some steps forward. 

 


	7. Seventh Step.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had the perfect opportunity for a cliffhanger and I didn't take it because the chapter would've been to short :(

He still washes his middle-of-the-night-breakfast dishes by hand, he doesn’t want to make all this progress too quickly. By the time he’s done, a few birds started chirping outside in the softer growing dark. With every minute, the idea of him staying in this apartment by himself seems less likable. A change of scenery is long overdue for him anyway.

Reluctantly, he grabs his keys and a light jacket, then he locks the door behind him.

For a while he simply walks along the route he always took with Teddy: Streets, coffee shops, a small park. Some insomniac dog-owners cross his path but pay him no mind. Surrounded by trees he stands and waits, watching a squirrel steal a half-eaten sandwich from a rubbish bin. It fills him with the same estrangement he knows from his own apartment, from seeing Ron and Hermione as a couple, from Ginny’s watery eyes as she forced back tears. Like he doesn’t _belong_.

So he focuses on the one place where he wasn’t an outsider for once. He focuses on memories of firelit evenings in the Gryffindor Common Room, of soaring above the castle’s towers on a broom. Mostly, he focuses on the inside of a pub in Hogsmeade, the Hog’s Head, where he knows a secret entrance into Hogwarts is hidden.

And he disapparates with a deafening bang.

 

Debris surround him. He barely recognises the pub any more. Most of the ceiling has come down, burying tables and chairs underneath. Harry sighs with relief as soon as he spots the portrait of Dumbledore’s sister Ariana, which has been pushed up halfway, laying the secret tunnel bare. Ariana herself isn’t in the portrait at this moment, making the whole room feel eerily empty.

Carefully, Harry makes his way through the ruins and finally disappears into the passageway.

On the other side, he stumbles out with no orientation until he reaches the giant staircase. The view downwards the grey shattered stone is vertigo-inducing, even though Harry never was afraid of heights. Watching his every step, he finds his way down across the steps that were left intact.

When he stands in the hallway where McGonagall first welcomed him among the other First Years he feels smaller than ever. Blank walls and abandoned portraits seem to be staring at him, and quite helplessly he thinks, so much for no more guilt. All this damage, all this loss…

“Well, look who we have here!” A squeaky voice screams, coming at him from above.

He takes a startled step back and tries to relax when he sees it’s just Peeves, the poltergeist, swirling around him.

“Harry Potter, in the flesh! If you came for reconstruction purposes, please contact Minerva McGonagall or Neville Longbottom who work here with their team from noon to dusk. But as you have arrived before sunrise – “ Peeves pulls an imaginary pocket watch from his pants, “AH, _just_ at sunrise as I now see – you must’ve come for personal purposes.”

Harry doesn’t know what to answer. Until now, he also didn’t know a reconstruction team existed.

“You probably want to be alone, eh? Most do, nowadays.” The poltergeist continues, picking up a candle from the dusty floor and placing it back in its enormous chandelier, “Just be careful, yeah? The new ghosts around here aren’t the only things residing in the ruins.” Without his trademark cackle, Peeves disappears into the west wall, leaving Harry alone with the shivers on his back.

It’s cold here, colder than a normal bleak summer in England. Unnaturally cold.

And he doesn’t feel estranged but rather on the spot, as if a million vicious eyes are watching him. The feeling grows when he sets foot in the Great Hall, where rows and rows of bodies lay the last time he saw it, where he used to cheer without restraint when Gryffindor won the House Cup.

Now it’s entirely empty.

The tables have been pushed to the sides and the podium is covered in ashes. The magic ceiling has disappeared, revealing chunks of the grey sky through holes in the damaged stone.

Harry stops in awe as the sunrise sends orange sparks through those chunks, and he notices tears collecting at the lower brim of his glasses. _How could he ever not think of all those who aren’t around to see another day begin?_ The tears keep coming silently and he lets them even though he knows they won’t change what happened.

His eyesight blurs and he doesn’t notice the movement behind his back. Neither does he hear the soft snarls through his own stifled sobs. The shadow approaches him in small, clumsy steps. It’s almost too late when he spins around at the sound of a clear, composed voice shouting: “ _Petrificus Totalus_!”

 

To his own astonishment he finds himself face to face with Draco, both of their wands drawn and crossed between them. The body-binding-curse didn’t hit him but a creature that now lies motionlessly at his feet.

Harry blinks repeatedly, slowly making sense of the situation.

Lowering his own wand, Draco nods at Harry’s: “I thought that was broken.” He barely finishes his sentence before Harry, putting his wand down, asks: “What are you doing here?”

His voice quivers more than he’d like it to and he’s surprised at how accusing he sounds.

“Saving your arse, apparently.” Draco gracefully turns to survey the room, then he stores his wand away.

Taking a step back, Harry tries to identify the goblin-like being on the ground. Its green and rancorous facial features remind him of Sirius’ house-elf, Kreacher, and it’s about the same size, too. Only its eyes are red and inside its clawed clutches rests a big chunk of wood. “What is that?” Harry scrunches up his nose and averts his eyes from the creature’s frozen stare.

“It’s a Red Cap. It was going to bludgeon you to death.” Draco answers matter-of-factly and Harry starts feeling cornered, exposed.

“Lovely. Thanks.” He meant to be alone here, and suddenly being beaten to death by this ugly goblin’s stick seems a nicer alternative to the nervous heat creeping up his neck. Trying to talk the tenseness away, he points at the Red Cap: “We haven’t always had those, have we? I mean, Hogwarts… how did it get here?”

“They appear in places of bloodshed. Perhaps they came from the Forbidden Forest after the battle.” Malfoy purses his lips and shifts his weight from one leg to the other.

Yes, Harry vaguely recalls Lupin talking about them in their third year.

“Anyway” the blond boy continues, “this place isn’t exactly safe yet. We could head into The Three Broomsticks if you want.”

For the first time today, Harry brings himself to look up into Draco’s grey eyes, and it’s like the past days come to life again in his mind, putting a funny feeling in his stomach. His heart beats faster as he swallows his pride, still not fully used to the fact that they’re no longer on bad terms. “Yeah. I’d like that.” He turns and Draco follows him wordlessly, making their way back into Hogsmeade.

“What did you come here for?” Draco picks up the conversation, climbing over debris onto the stairs after Harry.

“I don’t know. To reminisce?” Harry, who keeps thinking back to his dream where Draco held his hand, replies briefly.

Silence wraps around them until Draco admits: “Me too.”

His gentle voice makes the wide, empty hallways seem a little less eerie.


	8. Eighth Step.

A little way down the street from the Hog’s Head Inn where they climb out of lies the Three Broomsticks. It’s the only building that has been reconstructed almost all the way and yet – “Closed. Why, that’s awkward.” Draco turns to Harry, whose shoulders and hair are coated with thin layers of dust and ashes from the ruins they just left.

“That makes sense, though. It’s barely past sunrise. The early bird isn’t even up yet.”

“What bird?”

Harry fights the smile curving his lips at Draco’s puzzled expression. Being struck by a sudden idea, he grabs his arm and walks back into the direction they came from.

“What’s your epiphany?” Draco asks curiously without resisting even slightly.

“The Shrieking Shack.” Harry comes to a stop and takes in the view for a moment. The fuzzy sun slowly climbs higher above the forest, the village and the haunted shed that somehow looks not one bit more fragile and wrecked than it did before Hogwarts and Hogsmeade were invaded. “You know, this isn’t just the place where Voldemort killed Snape.” Swallowing hard, Harry avoids the memory to focus on others: “Now you probably don’t know this, but this is also where I met all of my dad’s former best friends, including Sirius, my godfather. Well, at least this is where we figured it all out in Year 3. Did you know that uh, another entrance to this is the Whomping Willow?”

When Harry turns to him Draco gently shakes his head. “I did not.”

“We found out because of Hermione’s cat. Weird, right?” Harry can’t help but beam a little, and Draco studies him carefully.

“You’re cute when you’re dwelling on positive memories.”

“What?”

“Nothing. Hermione, how is she?” The reason for going over his own compliment isn’t instant regret, on the contrary. He knows he wanted Harry to know, and for now that’s enough.

Irritated, Harry focuses on the question: “Actually, I talked to her and Ron yesterday for the first time in a while. They’re ready to have me around again.”

“That sounds cruel to me.”

“It’s not. We’re working on it, they even reacted okay when I told them about you.”

A part of Malfoy wants to jump and shout “WHAT?!” but it’s subdued by the part of him that learned to hold back his emotions over the years. “What did you tell them?” He inquires cautiously, the curiosity inside him barely noticeable.

“Well, they found the whiskey, so I had some explaining to do.”

A nervous laugh escapes Malfoy’s throat. “So we’re off to a good start.”

“I told them how different you act. I even explained to them what it meant that you were there when they weren’t. They came to terms with it.”

The words press down heavily on Draco’s consciousness. _What did it mean, Harry?_ He swallows hard. “You know I watched Bellatrix hurt Granger and I did nothing?” Feeling incredibly small, he winces at the memory. _What if Granger still carries the scar that says “Mudblood”?_ He doesn’t think he’d be able to look into her eyes.

Harry turns to him. “I know. But Draco, you made some pretty big choices since then. You changed.”

But what if I haven’t? Draco fears he might throw up at the thought. How despicable does one have to be to trick the one pure person in this world into believing one can be redeemed or forgiven? That moment Draco wishes he had a mirror just so he could punch his own reflection as hard as possible, and he takes a step away from Harry. “I ought to be going.” He chokes out and prepares to disapparate, but Harry extends his arm.

He meant to grab Malfoy’s wrist, yet only finds his hand and can’t bring himself to let go right away.

In spite of the neutral weather, Draco’s hand is quite warm, and Harry watches his jaw slowly unclench. His grey eyes that were brimming with tears just a second ago are now wide open in a pained expression, holding back an infinite amount of questions.

“Draco.” Harry says unnecessarily, still holding on.

Draco thought he was going to snap or burst or break down and his heart is pumping just as quickly as before, but he doesn’t feel like he’s falling through an endless abyss any more.

“Trust me, okay?” Harry still hasn’t let go. That fact and Draco’s impulse to simply give himself up entirely and yes, trust that silly, stubborn, pretty boy in front of him with everything, scares him.

“I know it’s hard to believe, but trust me to mean what I say. Yeah?”

Right then, Draco does. Because it’s true he made big choices, the biggest possibly being to ring Harry’s doorbell without knowing what expected him. It’s true he changed, because all the barriers that kept him from admitting who he was and what he felt fell away one by one. All of that combined with Potter’s hand that he reached out out of his own free will seem more horrifying than he thinks he’s capable of handling.

Draco pulls away his hand and hopes Harry doesn’t notice his distress. He runs his hand through his light strands of hair, wondering if he copied that move from Potter. “Even if that’s the case” ( _That doesn’t even remotely fit his question you twat_ , he scolds himself) “I still have this.” And he pushes back the sleeves on his right arm, revealing the Dark Mark. It’s faded and red from being itched too many times and with a shiver through his body he becomes acutely aware of how vulnerable and exposed he’s making himself. _Am I even in control any more?_

“I still have this.” Harry retorts, turning over his left hand. The soft skin there has partly been replaced by lighter scar tissue, spelling out the words “I MUST NOT TELL LIES.”

“Who did that to you?” His voice trembling, Draco realises that he himself is no longer the target of his anger all of a sudden.

“Umbridge. But that’s beside the point.”

“I didn’t know…” Draco interrupts, possibly even paler than before.

Harry snaps his fingers in front of his own face to gather his opposite’s attention. “The point is, I get to choose whether or not I let that define me.”

Silence.

“Sure, Phineas.” Draco grumbled.

“Who?”

“Phineas Nigellus Black. Some grand-grand-grandfather of mine. Everyone used to quote deep inspirational things he supposedly said.”

“Like Dumbledore?”

“Yes. He was a headmaster, too.”

“…I think I met him once.” Harry remembers talking to the portraits in Dumbledore’s office and Draco doesn’t even question it.

With a look at the horizon, he turns to Harry. “It’s lighter now. The Leaky Cauldron could be open, if I remember correctly they’re always a few hours ahead of the Three Broomsticks.”

“So let’s go.” Tentatively, Harry holds out his hand, causing Draco’s stomach to flutter.

Nonetheless, he takes it and they disapparate together from the abandoned village that Hogsmeade has become.


	9. Ninth Step

Tom, the Cauldron’s landlord doesn’t question their early arrival or the unlikely friendship they display. He assigns them a table by the window and disappears to prepare eggs and bacon.

“He used to be more talkative, didn’t he?” Harry observes and Draco presses his lips together because yes, the war took a toll on every last person they meet.

Sensing too much of the guilt he’s so keen to avoid, Harry jumps to another subject: “It seems like us having breakfast has become a tradition.”

“Two times in a row is no tradition” Draco relaxes visibly in his seat, “And don’t look at me like it’s my fault I stumbled across you a second before you were clubbed to death.”

“You’re saying it’s just a really unlikely coincidence?”

“Of course, lucky for you! What else would it be?” When Harry leans back in a suggestive shrug (where is the confidence coming from? He doesn’t know) Draco folds his arms: “Come on. I’m _definitely_ not the stalker type.”

“Well what type are you?” Harry asks, eyebrows raised.

“The type to suffer in silence.”

His reply stuns Harry for a moment. “Wow. Uh, that doesn’t sound like a lot of fun? Which girl made you find out?”

Draco can’t believe what he’s about to say, but he doesn’t want to let the opportunity pass as he might not get another: “I’ve never felt attracted to girls in that sort of way, really.” He watches Harry take in the statement and he’s sure he can pinpoint the moment where he goes from “Wait, what?” to “Ohhhhh.”

“So you’re – “

Tom arrives and places two plates between them. Both thank him briefly, but he doesn’t seem to care as he shuffles away wordlessly.

“I’m gay.” Draco confirms, his insides tingling no less than every time before he told someone. It does get easier, yet stays just as terrifying as the first time. He waits anxiously for Harry to react, his mask of confidence that he perfected over the years concealing that.

“…How did you, like, know?” Harry asks finally, and out of the need not to sound wrong, he adds: “I mean, how does one know these things?”

Draco, who didn’t expect Harry to take such an interest, smiles cautiously. “How do I put this? I definitely never felt the same way about Pansy Parkinson the way I did about Zabini Blaise.”

“Oh. Okay.” Resignation spreads out over Harry’s face, like he understands but can’t quite relate. He wants to ask more questions, but holds himself back out of politeness and says instead: “Thank you for trusting me enough to tell this.”

“You just told me how you met your godfather in a haunted tree. Now we’re even.” The tension gone, Draco digs into his breakfast with relief.

_No, we’re not!_ Harry thinks, _this is big_ even though Draco doesn’t treat it this way. He looks at the bacon on his plate, not sure where to turn with all of his questions.

Once Draco finishes his first forkful of scrambled eggs, he clears his throat. “Back in the Great Hall, if I remember correctly, you pointed your wand at me. What changed you mind regarding the personal abandonment of magic?”

With his mouth half-full, Harry bluntly replies: “You, mostly.” Why lie? “Besides, I wasn’t going to keep it up forever anyway. I just needed …a little push.” He adds, poking his food.

“It certainly would’ve exceeded the average Potter-level of stupidity to march into the magical ruins of Hogwarts unarmed. The Red Caps are by far not the most dangerous beings residing there now.” Draco comments between two bites.

“Hold on, the _what_? What’s a Potter-level of stupidity?” Harry’s indignation puts a playful smile on Draco’s lips.

“Don’t take it personally. Every time you and your friends rushed off to do something reckless and idiotic, me and my friends sorted it into a list from _harmless_ to _average_ to _Merlin’s-beardscissors-how-moronic-can-Gryffindors-be_?”

“How do I not take this personally?”

“Don’t look at me. You’re the one who asked.” Draco shrugs smugly.

“Fine then. Name one example.”

“Let’s see. When you saved the little French girl from the lake during the Triwizard Tournament and thereby almost disqualified yourself because it never occurred to you that this global organisation with years of experience has a dozen backup plans in case one of the champions fail, that was slightly above average on the Potter-bar-of-stupidity.”

“It was a very stressful situation. I did a heroic thing! But okay, name another.”

“Turning yourself into my friends via Polyjuice Potion to find out whether I’m the heir of Slytherin in Second Year, that was almost off the charts. It might be a record-holder for most elaborate and imbecile on the list.”

“Wait, you found out about that?”

“Not Crabbe and Goyle, no, but I did. You know, I am capable of putting one and one together. I believe that’s when the list started.”

“Oh my god. You’ve been keeping track of my stupidity for six years now. That’s terrible!” Harry buries his face in his hands and Draco laughs.

“Trust me, my friends got really sick of hearing about it.”

Sitting up, Harry’s curls fall into his face and he places his elbows on the table, leaning on them. “Not me. Tell me another one.”

So Draco does. Their plates are emptied quickly and by the time they are finished, the sun has fully risen outside and the magical clock above the pub’s entrance says it’s 11PM.

Harry has never enjoyed listening to someone this much, and neither has Draco ever let his words simply pour out for such a long time. Somehow, he feels lighter now.

“And I thought you were just bitching around, doing homework and giving everyone nasty looks. This sounds like you had a lot of fun at Hogwarts, too.” Harry still isn’t tired of looking at Draco, who beautifully lost himself in his stories, across the table.

“Don’t flatter yourself too much. Some of the credit goes to Blaise as well.”

“You never really seemed to be hanging out a lot.”

“Well.” Draco smiles to himself, “The two of _us_ weren’t exactly close, were we? So believe it or not, I actually did have a private life about which you don’t know that much.”

“Yeah, that’s a pity. Maybe you’ll tell me sometime.” Harry averts his eyes, pushing his cutlery around on his plate.

“Maybe.” Draco echoes and realises that he wouldn’t mind at all. The part of his mind that screams _What the hell are you doing, you can’t just let him in like that, what if he’s going to hurt you?_ is barely audible any more.

Until now, they were the only people in the _Cauldron_. But as Tom cleans up their plates, they hear the sound of apparating right outside the door and footsteps approach. Harry turns to look at the door like Draco does, who’s wondering whether Harry would have anything against people seeing them together. He holds his breath as the doorknob turns.


	10. Stopping to ask for directions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is coming to you from Jerusalem (I'm so excited to be here) and it's un-beta-ed. More coming out stuff, I hope you enjoy!

The two people coming in proceed to taking off each other’s coats before scanning the room. “Harry! We didn’t expect to see you here!” Hermione eagerly hurries towards him while Ron puts their coats up on the wardrobe. She stops abruptly, somehow managing to make it seem intentional. “Malfoy. You’re here too.”

Draco clutches his empty teacup, looking up with as much relaxed confidence as he can muster up. _This is the final trial by fire now, isn’t it?_ He thinks to himself. “Good morning.” Is what he says in a quiet and friendly fashion.

“Harry. Malfoy.” Ron approaches their table too, his face pale but his voice surprisingly composed. Harry stands up to greet his friends, feeling more awkward than Draco ever could, and he slides down next to the blond boy to make room at the table for Ron and Hermione. “Why don’t you sit with us?”

Both of them hesitate and seem to realise that they shouldn’t do that at the same time, so they promptly take their seats.

Ron clears his throat, studying Draco and doing his best not to betray his suspiciousness. “How’re you doing these days?”

Draco can’t help but feel that this is some sort of interrogation, which is why he thinks his every word through. “I’m doing what I can. I’m okay, everything considered. And I’m incredibly very sorry for your losses.” That makes Ron flinch and tense up, but Hermione pulls at his hand underneath the table, quieting him down. “It’s good to see you.” Draco goes on, moving on to unknown territory. His palms are sweaty.

“You look well.” Hermione answers, producing a small smile.

“Likewise.” The answer comes almost automatically.

“Harry told us you’ve been talking. I couldn’t quite picture that until now.” Hermione continues, while Ron still seems uneasy in the seat next to her.

Harry feels like he’s looking into a mirror, only he and Draco aren’t touching. Which is not to say that he doesn’t want to. “Would you like some tea?” He asks and tries brushing his arm against Draco’s, who flinches away.

“That’s what we came here for, yeah.” Ron attempts a smile and Harry signals Tom.

“I’ll leave you to it, seeing as I’m already finished.” Draco stands up, leaving no room for contradictions, and puts twice the amount of gold coins on the table that his meal cost, “Enjoy your breakfast.”

“Have a good one.” Hermione replies, Ron nods and Harry’s words are left stuck in his throat. Their eyes meet one last time as Draco slips through the door, and there is something understanding and apologetic in his gaze before the hinges click shut.

“Close your mouth, Potter, how about it?” Ron jokes and visibly relaxes for the first time. Hermione orders breakfast and tea for them. “I get your drift, Harry. He does seem changed.” She admits, nudging Ron, who agrees: “Almost seems likable, the bloke.” Harry swallows hard, wondering if his feelings are as much on display as he thinks they are.

Tom takes away the dirty dishes and brings Ron and Hermione’s orders, which is when Hermione leans across the table. “Please. Tell us what’s going on!” Her voice isn’t urging but rather amused, as if this is just the latest gossip.

“What do you mean? Teddy’s back with Andromeda, I’m managing well enough – “

“With Draco, stupid.” Ron interrupts. “This was evidently a date here, wasn’t it?” Hermione adds, a mischievous smile playing around her lips. This is the happiest the two of them have looked in a long time.

Harry takes on a defensive attitude. “ _Evidently_ it wasn’t! We just coincidentally bumped into each other and had a few bites. Nothing to it.”

For a second both of them quiet down, thinking of something to say. Hermione sips on her tea. Then she shrugs. “That’s okay. We’re just happy you’re getting along with each other so well.”

“This is the first time I’ve seen him act respectful in some way. It looks like you’re having a proper positive impact.” Ron remarks while munching on his toast.

“He was like that when we started talking. I can’t take credit for that.” Harry replies and can’t help a small smile dancing on his face, “I told you he’s making an effort.”

“Makes you wonder why though, don’t it?” The ginger gives his best friend a sly look.

“Maybe. I don’t know.” “Don’t confuse him, Ron.” Hermione chimes in while cracking open her egg. “Don’t bother. I’m already confused, there’s not much damage left to be done.” Harry stares at his hands and sees no reason not to talk when Hermione asks: “What do you mean?”

“You know I really cared about Ginny. I really liked her that way, and I’m sorry how it ended. And it wouldn’t make any sense if I liked someone else now, because I liked her, right? And she’s a girl.” The words seem cryptic once they left his mouth, and he’s surprised to find Hermione looking like she knows what he means. “Don’t give me that look!” He complains.

“Oh, Harry!” She smiles a little broader, “You do know that these things aren’t _either or_? Stuff like that is never black and white.” What she’s saying makes sense, but he can’t help feeling puzzled. To his friends, the expression looks all too familiar on his face.

“So you fancy Draco?” Ron clarifies, and Harry stifles. “I never said that.”

“Please don’t tell me we have to introduce ourselves to another mystery prince who caused your bisexual awakening.” They’re having fun, Harry can tell.

“My bisexual what??”

“There’s terminology for everything. That’s what you call being attracted to both boys and girls.” “Of course you’d know that sort of thing.” Hermione looks pleased with herself.

“Are you going to do something about it?” Ron asks, catching him off guard once more. “No!” He almost shrieks, then quieter: “What would I do about it? This isn’t …conventional.”

“Since when do you care what’s conventional? You feel a certain way, so does he, so what’s stopping you from being happy?” Hermione and Ron look at him reassuringly.

His answer comes quicker than intended, and more stressed as well: “This isn’t the time to be happy!” _What a terrible thing to say_ , he realises, and at the same time, _isn’t this the motto that’s been dragging each and every one of us down_?

“Yes. It is.” Ron says quietly. He doesn’t have to look to know they’re holding hands again.

“I don’t know what to do. I’ve never been without directions in my life.” Harry laces his own fingers with each other, needing to feel the pressure, “I’ve always had chores, orders, a prophecy or at least a class schedule. And now I haven’t and… I don’t know. I don’t know what I’m doing.” He admits. It feels as though he just spit out the lump in his throat.

“That’s perfectly fine.” Hermione reaches out across the table to take his hand, “But you looked right together. You should get to do whatever feels right. You deserve that.”

_Is that what I’ve been aching to hear?_ He lets her hold his hand, the warmth grounding him. “I need some time to make up my mind about that, I think.” He suppresses the need to ask “Is that okay?” Hermione picks up on it anyway and assures him: “That’s okay, Harry.”

“Do you want to come home with us?” Ron offers. Home. What a strange word. His mind jumps to the Burrow without having to think about it twice.

“Yes.”

 

* * *

 

 

Ginny hugs him. They don’t speak about it. He apologises. She tells him he doesn’t have to. Molly holds him for various minutes. She apologises. He tells her he’s okay. It’s not a lie. George flinches awake and smiles at him from across the room, like a weak copy of the grinning and mischievous guy he used to be. At least he tries. Percy is cooking. Arthur is napping, they don’t wake him up. Bill and Fleur kiss him on the forehead and tell him welcome back. Everyone seems glad to see him.

Home.

He talks to Ginny for at least an hour. They sit on the improvised swing set and he’s crying a little. She isn’t. He doesn’t tell her he likes someone else now. How could he? Ginny knows it’s for the better they’re no longer together. Getting back that way doesn’t seem like an option for either of them. She tells him about Quidditch auditions. About Neville’s reconstruction squad. Of course she’d be a part of that. He realises, he still loves her. But in a different way. The way he loves all of them, the way he loves Ron and Hermione. She doesn’t tell him that she missed him. They hug again before everyone goes to sleep, and he inhales her smell of ashes and sunflowers. “Don’t have nightmares” She says instead of “Good night.” He repeats it back to her.

Home.


	11. Stumbling

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a long one, but I couldn't interrupt. Feels ahead.

He knows where he wants to go upon waking up. He also knows he wants to go alone, and he insists upon it when Hermione, Ron, Ginny, Bill, Arthur and even Charlie suggest accompanying him.

“I’ll be back in the evening,” he promises, “Don’t worry about me.”

They all say goodbye to him. It’s impossible to ignore how much they care, how much they’ve cared all along. Feeling warm and fuzzy and a little awkward, he disapparates from the front yard of the Burrow.

 

The house taking shape in front of his eyes is flat and big; too big, like most buildings are nowadays. Its roof is bubblegum pink, and he doesn’t ring the bell that quacks like a rubber duck while letting himself in through the back door. Standing on the doormat that reads “Muggles and Wizards all welcome here” he can see into the kitchen, where Andromeda Tonks is stirring a cauldron exactly the way you see witches do in Muggle Childrens’ books, humming a tune to herself that sounds melancholic and hopeful at once.

Harry thinks about calling out to her but decides against it, in order not to interrupt her peaceful sway. He rubs the soles of his sneakers clean and turns to the right corner of the living room, where he knows Teddy’s crib to be.

And he freezes.

Above the crib stands a lean person, their back composedly straight. They’re holding Teddy. Teddy. Harry’s first instinct is to run there, his second is to draw his wand, but they both fall away when he recognises the sleek blonde hair, the statue, the – “Draco?” His voice quivers audibly, his fingers turn white squeezing each other.

The other boy turns around, Teddy’s soft pink head against his shoulder. Sleeping. “Harry. I didn’t hear you come in.” It’s not fair. He looks so smooth and relaxed, so at peace. Most of all, he looks like he belongs, here of all places, with Harry’s godson curled up in his arms.

Involuntarily, Harry’s muscles get less tense almost this instant. “I took the back door.” He replies, edging a little closer.

“Get over here” Draco invites him, smiling at his shy steps, “He just fell asleep after we fed him.”

Harry joins Draco next to the crib, stroking bits of the wispy pink hair. “Hey, Mister.” Teddy’s eyes flutter and he opens his small mouth, smiling empty-teethed up at his godfather. “I didn’t mean to wake you up there.” Harry can’t help but smile back.

Draco gently places the child in Harry’s arms, their hands touching, his hands touching his bicep, his wrist, his shoulder in the process. In order not to be so painfully aware of that, Harry focuses on Teddy instead of on how close they are, how much contact –

“He was probably just pretending to sleep. That’s one of his favourite hobbies.” They both turn to see Andromeda standing a few feet away, her arms crossed and a mischievous smile on her wrinkled lips. Her greyed hair is pinned up in two buns, making her look incredibly old and incredibly young at the same time. She’s wearing a pantsuit made out of dark red corduroy and a colourful knitted jacket, making Harry wonder how she comes up with such things.

“Andromeda. I wanted to come by and help a little. See Teddy.” He explains, remembering he didn’t say hi yet.

“That’s sweet, Harry. It seems another young man had the same idea.” She gives both of them a tired grin and Harry takes a polite step away from Draco, who looks up and smiles at him, “It seems.”

“Well, you’re both very welcome here. I was just finishing off the strengthening solution I mix with his proteins once a week. It didn’t hurt my Dora, so I figured – “ She breaks off, looking pensive for a second and then abruptly wiping the smile off her face. Closing her eyes as if she’s feeling a sudden surge of pain, she grabs hold of the doorframe and shakes her head ever so slightly. “I’ll tend to it. I’m in the kitchen if you need me.” With a swish of fabric she disappears into the kitchen and closes the door behind her.

“Should we go after her?” Draco asks concernedly, pointing in the direction. His face is all scrunched up.

“I think it’s better not to. She needs a second.” Harry replies truthfully, averting his eyes to look at his godson, who is slowly looking back and forth between them, seeming a little baffled but content. “It’s nice to run into you again.” He continues before Draco gets the chance to say something, and the blond boy bites his lip. Harry feels his stomach flutter, which is something he could get used to.

“I agree,” Draco says, his chin up, “So many lucky coincidences. How did it go with your friends yesterday?”

“It couldn’t have gone better. We talked for hours, and now I’m staying with the Weasleys again. Ron and Hermione found you very sympathetic.”

“They did?” It’s impossible for Draco to keep the surprise from his voice.

“Of course. You are likable. After I’d opened their minds to that option the last time, they saw what I meant.” When Draco exhales with restrained relief, Harry goes on: “But since when are you so eager to be liked?”

That makes Draco push back a smile and shake his head. “Oh, Potter. Since forever. A lot of things slip your attention, it seems.”

“But you’re confident.”

“So?”

Harry hesitates. “What else slipped my attention?”

“Your best friends pining for each other for at least three years, for starters.”

“That’s a big one. Good point.” He wants to ask more questions, wants to tell Draco what he figured out only yesterday because it does go with the topic of things slipping his attention, but he lets Teddy grab his free hand and close his tiny, light fingers around his bigger, darker ones. “The worst part is that I was too busy pitying myself to fully appreciate this.” He studies his godson attentively; his amber eyes, his round features, the pressure of his grip.

“It’s enough that you’re starting now. Don’t blame yourself.” Draco says softly. When Harry doesn’t answer, he asks: “Should we maybe check on Andromeda now? We could help her with the potion.”

Even though he doubts he’d be of much help, Harry agrees and leads the way into the kitchen.

They gently push open the door to find Andromeda hunched on a footstool, the giant spoon she stirred the potion with in her hands. She spins around and relaxes at their sight, smiling with puffy eyes. “Hey, boys.” She greets them, absent-mindedly taking a sip from the spoon.

“I don’t think you’re supposed to do that.” Draco mutters under his breath worriedly, going to her side and helping her up.

“I’m not that old, Draco.” She swats at him and tries another smile, “And the potion is ready. Tastes wonderful, too.” Filling most of it into a two-litre bottle which she puts in the freezer above her regular muggle fridge and putting the rest of it in Teddy’s drinking bottle, she clatters around – barely not knocking everything over – while talking to both of them. “How about we make ourselves a little something to eat? I got some vegetables from the garden yesterday, and I’ve got the cauldron cooking already. Now that we’ve got everything for Ted… Teddy, we might as well feed ourselves too, eh? What are your thoughts on soup?” Her voice grows more determined as she’s speaking, which stuns Harry.

“Soup sounds lovely.” Draco jumps in, smiling. “Just tell us what we can do.”

And she does. At twice the speed they expected her to, suddenly moving agilely around, taking Teddy from Harry’s arms and placing him in the highchair next to the sink. Once more, Harry gapes at how seamlessly she manages to combine Muggle technology with wizard supplies. Both he and Draco oblige to what she says, they chop vegetables and charm spices to fly into the cauldron. Andromeda kneads bread dough in the air and finally snaps her fingers, catching a fully baked loaf. “How’d you do that?” Harry asks dumbfounded. “Family secret.” She replies and winks, the puffy eyes entirely gone, “Set the table, would you, boys?”

 

 As the four of them – including Teddy, of course - sit together at the triangular kitchen table Harry feels the way he did at the Burrow. All awkwardness, guilt, and need to explain why Draco is entitled to be there is nonexistent, which makes for a nice difference in comparison to before. They dive into their soups, which taste delicious, and afterwards, Harry suspects that Andromeda slipped a little of the strengthening solution in for them, too. He feels braver than he has in weeks.

“You can leave the plates. I’ll just take a quick nap, I hope you don’t mind. Teddy and I developed that habit.” Andromeda announces, and as if on cue, Teddy yawns generously. “Sure.” Draco replies, Harry nods. She hoists the pink-haired kid up on her hips and disappears from the living room.

Harry turns to Draco: “We’re doing the dishes, right?”

“Of course we are.”

They levitate the bowls into the kitchen and flick on the hot water. Like last time in Harry’s apartment, Draco dries the dishes that Harry has hand-washed. This time, their hands touch while handing them over and none of it loses a word over it, much rather they talk about everything but that. Harry tentatively takes a tiny step left until their shoulders are ever so slightly touching, and he almost grins broadly when Draco doesn’t step away. Until he does to hang up his towel to dry and wash his hands.

They sit down opposite each other on the purple couch in the living room. “Eating lunch just now almost felt like family.” Harry remarks. “I never got to experience that sort of family.” Draco fidgets around with his own hands and stops to wonder whether that’s another nervous tick he copied off Potter. _Get a hold of yourself_.

“Neither did I before Hogwarts.”

“But you had it, in the very very beginning.”

“Only I was too young to remember. But I suppose I did.” Harry’s guts clench at the thought of…

“I used to not understand how you could love somebody so much that you would die for them.” Draco admits hoarsely.

“You used to? But you’ve only known Teddy for so long.” Funny, how Harry’s mind should jump to that assumption.

“I’m not talking about Teddy.” With a waxen expression, Draco looks up at Harry. He can’t move. _What am I doing. What am I doing._

Harry’s eyebrows slowly furrow. His eyes look even greener and more confused through his round glasses.

_What am I doing._

“Who do you mean?” There is no way Draco could possibly bring himself to answer that. No way. “You can’t mean…” Harry mumbles into the silence, sure that the other boy must hear his heart pumping.

_What am I doing. What_ – “Harry, I’ve been infatuated with you since we met. I thought it was childish rivalry, and it was, until… My mind revolves around you. It has for such a long time, I don’t know how to make it stop, and now you’re actually here, with Teddy, and you make it seem like maybe I’m not insane to want impossible things, so if you’re just playing around, please leave it. It hurts.”

Only when his cataract of words ebbs away Draco notices how angry he is. Hearing himself say all of this is the most acknowledgement he’s gotten in a long time, and it feels brilliant.

Not to Harry, though. He feels like a rock, no, an entire mountain has been dropped on him. _Draco fancies me,_ he thinks. _No, Draco loves me_. “So you fancy Draco?” Ron’s voice echoes in his head. He does. Doesn’t he? “Draco, I…” Harry’s throat appears to be tied, so he reaches out and takes Draco’s hand.

Fear widen’s Draco’s eyes as he violently pulls away, getting up. “No! This is exactly what I mean, Harry! You can’t _do_ that to me. Don’t you understand?”

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” Harry flinches away, scared by his reaction.

“No, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have…” Draco looks around the room, dishevelled. “Please, tell Aunt Andromeda thank you.” Are his final words before he disapparates with a bang that leaves Harry with a headache.

 


	12. Getting Back Up

Doorbells. It’s barely been forty minutes since she last ran to open it, thirty minutes since she gently closed them behind the regular guest. It had been Mrs. Malfoy with a bag stuffed with clothes, books and supplies her son might want. He’d moved out of Malfoy Manor a month ago now, but she kept finding things of his that he might need in his new apartment. Pansy suspected she simply wanted excuses to see her son as often as possible.

Her skirt dances around her legs as she struts though their hallway, announcing: “I’m getting the door!” A muffled grunt of agreement echoes out of the room opposite her own. She stops dead in her tracks as soon as she rips the door open. Her eyes narrow almost automatically. With a hardened, superior expression, she demands: “What do you want?”

The person facing her pulls up their shoulders, shifting their head. Green eyes look down at her pleadingly though the veil of big, round glasses. “I was hoping to speak with Draco.” Potter replies.

Pansy purses her lips and leans against the doorframe, cocking an eyebrow. “What makes you think he lives here?”

All she receives in return is a breathed: “Please, I need to.”

“He’s not home. Please don’t come here again.” Determinedly she slams the door shut – but Potter blocks it by pushing his foot in and making a pained face. “Merlin’s beard tweezer, aren’t you a persistent one!” She vexes, folding her arms and clenching her teeth, “I’ll say this slowly so you can follow, bonehead. Leave, or you’ll leave with some curses on your chosen butt. Am I being clear?”

Neither her elevated chin nor her threatening words seem to have any impact on Potter. He keeps looking miserably at her. “Pansy, listen to me. There’s been a giant misunderstanding.”

“Oh, really? Not from what I heard.”

That second, Potter’s pupils widen, but he’s not even paying attention to her. She spins to look behind her – Draco has pushed his door open and is staring at Harry across Pansy’s shoulder. “Draco, he won’t leave.” She informs him as he slowly edges closer. Looking back and forth between the two boys, she feels she understands even less than back in Arithmancy class. “Draco?” Pansy asks again, but he briefly raises his hand to tell her it’s okay.

“Draco, can you hear me out?” Harry asks again, standing a little taller this time.

“I suppose.” Draco answers, his voice raspy. Blonde strands of hair are falling into his face. Harry never saw him this dishevelled. It reminds him of himself when Draco first stepped into his apartment. Which is what he does now.

“Do you want tea?” Draco offers quietly. Pansy watches the whole scene play out curiously.

“No, thanks. I just want to talk.” Sheepishly, Harry follows Draco into his room and Pansy closes the apartment door. “I’ll be right here if you need me, yeah?” She assures her flatmate, studying the two of them one last time before Draco’s door shuts behind them. _There hasn’t been a time when Potter didn’t mean trouble_ , she thinks.

Harry sits down cautiously on Draco’s bed, far away enough to seem like strangers.

“How did you find me?” Draco wants to know, his voice shaking slightly. He shouldn’t care that Harry sees him in this condition, in this environment, now that…

“I spend all of last week asking around. I went to Hogwarts and Hogsmeade and even to the Cauldron on a daily basis, until I came across Blaise Zabini yesterday and he told me.” Kneading his own hands in his lap, Harry tries to steal some glances at Draco. It’s surprising how sure of himself he feels all of a sudden.

“He just told you?” The last thing Draco wants to feel now is betrayal, but he can barely help it.

“No, I had to sit him down and explain myself. Then he gave me this address.” Harry tries to smile. But Draco doesn’t even look at him, his eyes are fixed on the window surveying a beautiful park. “What is there to explain?”

“Everything!” Comes the eager answer, “It wasn’t right to leave things the way they were back at Andromeda’s. You misinterpreted what I did, you barely gave me time to react because you thought I wouldn’t be serious enough about it.”

“So I’ve made mistakes. I’m well aware. Is that what you came here to tell me?” It’s impossible to keep the bitterness from his voice now, and Draco is disgusted by it.

“Not in the least. Draco,” Harry turns towards him, why does he turn towards him, “Has it crossed your mind that I might feel the same way?”

Draco’s chest heaves up and down, he doesn’t feel capable of breathing any more. Could it be? All this time he thought it was a cruel joke, even though cruel is the last word anyone would use to describe Potter, isn’t that the reason he loves him so much?

“I didn’t take your hand to provoke you. The last thing I want to cause is pain. I meant to tell you … I care about you the same way. It took me a while to see that, and I hope you can see it too – “ Harry stops when Draco turns to face him. His insides start dancing around un-rhythmically. He feels the stupid need to say something in order not to get lost staring at his former nemesis, so: “I really think we could be happy together.”

Draco presses his lips together, his entire face lighting up in an uncharacteristically childish smile. “You think so?”

“Yes.” Harry answers confidently enough, not having to think about it for a second.

“You make an excellent point.” Draco’s smile is contagious, and Harry holds his breath as the blond boy leans in to kiss him softly. By then all remnants of a doubt have disappeared from his mind, and he gives in to the other boy’s touch.

That’s when Pansy barges in through the door. “HA! You guys are snogging!” She exclaims triumphantly. Harry freezes insecurely, but Draco just beams at his flatmate like he just got the coolest birthday present. “I owe Blaise 20 Knuts,” Pansy realises calmly, cocking both eyebrows, “But I’m happy your misunderstanding worked out that well for both parties,” She winks, “This is the last time I’m barging in. I promise.” With these words she slides out of Draco’s room again, grinning mischievously, and she shuts the door behind her.

“She sounds like she’d been rooting for this for a long time.” Harry observes, feeling light.

Draco, who still hasn’t stopped smiling, shrugs. “She spent the past seven years around me, that might be why.”


	13. Walking

The sun is setting over the Burrow. Harry insisted on not having a big party for his birthday, but nonetheless everyone is assembled at the Weasleys’ home.

Andromeda and Molly prepared a buffet together, and a makeshift Quidditch pitch has been set up. They’ve been playing for hours, shifting positions and teams when one match is over. Right now, Ron and Ginny are the opposite keepers. Charlie, Bill, George and Neville are Beaters – Neville’s ability to keep himself on a broom has increased since Year One, and he finds that swinging a bat to hit Bludgers is almost the same as decapitating snakes with the sword of Godric Gryffindor. Seamus and Dean do their best as Chasers, but they don’t compare Katie and Angelina, who soar through the air with ease.

One of the Seekers is blond, the other has dark unruly hair.

More often than not a player stops midway in the air to avoid crashing into someone else, making it a very soft and friendly game. There are laughs instead of screams and accuses of unfair play.

Hermione and Luna stand next to the buffet, pumpkin juices in their hands.

“It’s great weather to play. Almost no nargles all around!” Luna remarks, swaying on her feet. She’s wearing a short and colourful dress with bells attached to the bottom seam. It’s only a matter of time before she’ll get together with Andromeda to talk fashion.

“Do you know what occurred to me just now?” Hermione asks, a mischievous smile playing around her lips as she watches the match.

“Hm?” Luna turns around and decides to start paying attention.

“I figured out what Harry's type is. Look!” Pointing to the pitch, where Harry and Draco have simultaneously started racing upwards after something invisible to Hermione’s eye, she starts grinning proudly: “All of his past and present crushes just so happen to be talented and passionate Seekers. Draco, Ginny, even Cho Chang…”

Luna contemplates the news, and nods. “Well then, Charlie Weasley ought to watch out if Harry and Draco don’t work out.”

They appear to be working out just fine, though. At the same time, they reach the snitch and their hands close around it in a handshake. Draco pulls Harry closer, stealing a kiss. “That’s not where the snitch is, you know.” Harry teases, “Keep looking.”

They decide to give both teams the points for catching the snitch, so they cancel each other out and leave Ginny’s team to be the winner this round. She high-fives her teammates, Draco first of all and dances around Ron with a self-sufficient look on her freckled face.

George starts whistling the tune to “Weasley is our king”, making Ron blush furiously while Ginny only enjoys herself more. Angelina and Katie disappear to get drinks for everyone, Bill leaves to check on Fleur in the living room, whose tummy is the size of a melon.

Arthur congratulates them on another great match. “Neville, you absolutely stole the show. Dean and Seamus, so will you if you keep trying!”

“Uh, thanks?” Seamus cocks an eyebrow, but Dean only laughs.

Everybody grows quiet when another guest appears on the Weasleys’ doorstep. Narcissa Malfoy clears her throat, and tucks some strands of grey hair behind her ears. She still carries herself with dignity, but she seems much smaller than before the war. “I don’t mean to intrude.” Her voice is clear and sincere, “I just came to say Happy Birthday to my son’s boyfriend. And to apologise.”

Molly gets to her before Harry can, wrapping her in a brief hug and telling her she’s welcome. A tear rolls down Narcissa’s cheek when she spots her sister across the room. She shakes Harry’s hand and embraces her son, and everybody respects it when she walks over to Andromeda. It’s obvious these two have a lot of catching up to do.

Draco and Harry make their way to the porch, where Teddy’s sleeping in his crib in the soft evening sun. His hair is ginger, to no one’s surprise. But he kept Draco’s nose, and Harry’s green eyes. The baby’s morphing powers never fail to amaze either of the boys.

“He looks peaceful.” Draco says, relaxing at the sight. 

Tentatively, Harry laces his fingers through Draco’s and smiles. “He’s a lucky kid, isn’t he?” He pauses, looking at his godson affectionately. Then he continues: “He’s got two dads, three grandmothers, like twenty aunts and uncles, and all of them love him.” With a look back at his own childhood, Harry could feel jealous, but he’s simply glad that he gets the chance to do better by someone.

It’d be a wild exaggeration to say everything is okay again. But more than anyone Harry knows that change and improvement come in tiny steps at a time. And this day is another baby step towards being okay.


End file.
